


Moving Pictures

by Theskee



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Slow Burn, and steve helps him pick out movies, in which billy survives but is not okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-29 10:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19828039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theskee/pseuds/Theskee
Summary: Time is supposed to heal all wounds, but Steve told him these movies were due back by midnight. There doesn't seem to be enough time in the world to fix what's broken in him, so maybe he can just forget it for a while.





	1. Return of the Living Dead

**Author's Note:**

> SOoooooOooo... I've begun working on this fic and I'm not sure how long it's going to take me to get it where it's going but I have it mapped out and I'm in dire need of... an outlet for the goddamn feels. So please let me know what you think. If you're interested in seeing it continue. This is just a small taste for the moment. My work is all unbeta'd. Sorry for any mistakes.

Billy’s fingers curled in and out, in and out. He could feel the burn in his muscles as he flexed and made a fist. It was difficult. The impulses sent from his brain to his body were sluggish and confused. He’d been without control for so long, his body felt foreign to him. Bits and pieces blurred together in flashes of color and cacophonous sound. Max’s face filtered through sometimes, or El’s voice. He’d been deep inside himself, trying to break through with no success for what felt like an eternity. Now that he was there, now that he was free, it was like stepping into a room he knew well, only to find all the furniture had been rearranged. 

As he lay in his hospital bed he reflected on all that had transpired, sifting through memories that were thick, black, and syrupy. Sometimes doctors came in, they’d tell him he was lucky. So very lucky. The impact to his chest had split skin, cracked his diaphragm. One long collapsed entirely. He had shallow but vicious wounds. Wounds he had an explanation for but couldn’t think about. His mind was flayed. He was sure that no amount of time in a medically induced coma, medication, physical therapy, or psychiatric help would ever really bring him back to who he once was.

Max visited from time to time, tailed by the last members of the party still lingering in Hawkins. Their chatter about school, dances, vacations-- was all so suffocatingly pleasant. Billy didn’t feel worthy of that normalcy. That was his ever present problem. He was never good enough for any of that. Maybe his weakness was why the Mind Flayer chose him to begin with. He was worn down, weak of heart, weak in character, and… maybe he deserved all this. 

He missed the beach. 

He didn’t miss his father. His lack of visits was a small bright spot in the gloom of Billy’s hospital room. 

He didn’t speak unless he had to. Billy preferred the silence. He communicated through looks, shrugs, grunts, anything but words. What could he ever say again that would make any of this okay. People were dead because of him. The image of bodies dropping and melting into a sloppy bone and gore soup, slithering across the floor still haunted him. It made his skin crawl. If it weren’t for the drugs, he wouldn’t sleep. 

Days passed, the seasons changed, and the snow came and was on its way out when he was finally able to stand on his own, cross to the window and look out at the parking lot. It seemed deceptively peaceful. He leaned his forehead against the glass, hugged his hospital gown tighter around himself, and looked out into the middle distance without really seeing. He was counting down the days and dreading going back. 

Better to just drop out, get away, find a shithole apartment and escape the cycle of abuse. He’d never be able to truly feel safe around Max again. She’d suffered enough, many times because of Billy. It was time. 

When he was finally discharged, he packed his things that night. He sold what remained of his Camaro for scrap, and used that cash to put himself up in a motel. On the creaky and impersonal bed, he slept peacefully for the first time in years. 

He found a job working with his hands. Construction was an easy in. Contracting was flourishing in Hawkins these days, and for good reason. Rebuilding Starcourt made Billy feel sickly; it seemed wrong. A paycheck was a paycheck. It got him out of the motel and into a place he could call his own.

He kept his head down and kept to himself. Max popped up from time to time to find him but every encounter left him feeling a little bit worse than before. He couldn’t meet her eyes. She was a kid, and kids had this alarming capacity for forgiveness that Billy wasn’t able to accept. His heroics (her words, not his) had earned him some kind of peaceful acceptance. 

Billy’s studio apartment had shared walls. Martha, an elderly woman on one side, spent most of her time pontificating and talking to an owl statue she carried around like a personal totem. On the other side was Amy. She was a little older than Billy was, with an odd sense of fashion that consisted of black. Lots of black. She kept odd hours, glared at Billy often, and played a lot of depressing music. She played it loud enough to rattle what little belongings Billy kept in his cabinets. 

Billy didn’t mind living between the two. Their erratic behavior breathed life into his days and nights. Chance meetings in the hall gave him a sense that he was still connected to humanity, even on the days when he barely felt human.

Two months passed in a blink of an eye. Summer was winding down again. Contracting was going to slow soon. Billy picked up another job washing dishes at a diner within walking distance of his apartment. Time passing felt blurry. His hands always smelled of soap now instead of drywall. That was his new constant.

Billy found himself looking around his sparsely furnished apartment on a Friday night and realized he’d made progress. Somehow, he’d made this little hovel into his home. Posters along the walls were accompanied by photos from his childhood. He’d kept them tucked away for so long. Any photo of his mother only brought the wrath of his father down upon him. Now he could remember her without fear. 

He hoped she was happy. 

He’d acquired a television, some rabbit ears, and now, a VCR. He had a small table and chairs he’d rescued from a curbside and re-painted. He had an eclectic set of dishes and silverware. His curtains were merely a pinned up patterned sheet, but they still brought a sense of personality to the small space. 

Somehow, against all odds, this felt like a safe haven. 

Billy found himself marveling at his apartment with a beer in hand. Tonight he wanted to stay in, and enjoy his home. He wanted to breathe in this space and relax, knowing it was completely his own. Polishing off his beer, Billy makes for the door, snatching his keys from the dresser as he goes. The drive to the video store is a short one. 

Billy had the spare cash to pick out a couple to enjoy with a pizza from his bed. He couldn’t think of a more appealing way to spend his evening. Maybe he’d even turn up the volume enough to rattle Amy’s cabinets for a change. 

Probably not. But it was an amusing thought. 

The door jingled above him as he pushed it open and crossed the threshold. The Family Video smelled distinctly of plastic and sugary snacks. The air was somewhat humid; people milled about through the aisles with their significant others, friends, or children. Friday night brought out the crowds. 

Billy felt his skin prickle with a mild wave of anxiety as he tried to avoid eye contact. He kept himself hidden behind his sunglasses and the upturned collar of his jean jacket. He idly ran his fingers across titles. He was in the horror section, against his better judgement, and out of old habits. Scary movies had been a great escape from everyday horrors. He’d used them to cope with the terror of his home life.

He didn’t have to do that anymore, and his head supplied him with plenty of horror every time he closed his eyes. His favorite genre felt tainted now. As his eyes lingered on the cover of  _ Return of the Living Dead, _ splashes of inky black flood his vision. His breathing started to come a little quicker and more shallow than before. He recoiled from the display and took a few uneasy steps down the aisle, nearly bumping into a young couple picking out a movie. 

He grunted an apology and made his way to the end of the aisle, bracing himself against the shelving as he caught his breath. The world around him shrank down to pinpricks and he tried to get his breath back. Unaware of how much time passed while he stood there, a voice broke through the rushing sound of water building in his ears. 

“Hey, you okay, pal?” 

Billy jerked around and found himself under the weight of Robin’s gaze. She lazily chewed gum, the sound of it, even at the few feet of distance grated on Billy. Coming out was starting to feel like a horrible idea. It was tempting to run, but as recognition dawned on her face, she took a step closer. Her approach kept Billy frozen in place. 

“Just breathe, alright?” she encouraged, quieter as she tucked her gum into her cheek so she could speak more clearly. She cleared her throat and reached out to touch his shoulder with all the caution you’d use to approach a frightened animal. “You sure picked a hell of a genre after all the shit we’ve seen.”

There was an attempt at humor in her tone, but it was lost on Billy. He pushed her hand away.

“Don’t.”

She lifted her hands in surrender.

“Hey. It’s cool. We’re cool. Just tryin’ to make sure you’re not gonna go berserk and scare all the customers away.”

Billy’s face crumpled and contorted with shame and irritation. Her words cut right to the heart of his fears. 

“Sorry. That was… Harsher than I meant it to sound. Just… I know what you’re going through. We all get a little stuck sometimes after everything that--”

“You don’t know the first goddamn thing about what I’m going through.”

Billy hadn’t spoken that much to anyone in a long time. He’d been getting by on monosyllables for so long it felt foreign to utter an entire sentence. His throat felt hot and tight as he took another step back. 

“I know more than nothing. Which is enough to say that you should probably rent  _ Weird Science _ instead of a Zombie Movie.”

Robin’s tone was snappy, but she wasn’t trying to be cruel. Billy could tell. Everyone that had been in the heart of the storm that hit this town was different now. He wanted to stop lashing out, but it felt impossible. 

Robin pointed to another section of movies and brushed past him. 

“Comedies are over there. Do yourself a favor and pick one.”

Billy watched her behind his aviators as she wove her way through the shelves to help a family on the other side of the store, leaving him alone yet again. He caught his breath and his feet carried him in the direction she suggested. He browsed the comedies, eyes flitting over the square jaw and blonde hair of Val Kilmer on the cover of  _ Real Genius _ . He moved the cover aside and picked up the rental box and then, after a moment, he circled back to the horror section. 

He stood face to face with  _ Return of the Living Dead _ for what felt like an eternity before he grabbed that one too.

He tossed the rentals on the counter, followed by a packet of M&Ms, and began digging around in his pocket for his wallet. 

“This it for you?” the cashier’s voice was familiar. Billy felt a creeping flush up the sides of his neck as he pulled out his wallet and found himself looking at Steve. Steve wasn’t paying attention. There was a textbook open on the counter that had captured his eyes long before Billy walked up. 

Billy swallowed a knot in his throat and then cleared it. 

“Yeah,” he said, his voice coming out soft and small, “that’s all.”

Steve’s head snapped up and Billy felt exposed. He wasn’t sure why, but he reached up and pushed his sunglasses back into his hair. He made proper eye contact with Steve who just stared. The moment carried on just long enough to become uncomfortable. 

“Max said you were still in town I… You look… You look  _ well _ .”

“Takes more than an eldritch horror to kill me,” Billy grunted. Steve’s brows drew together in mild confusion as he tried to place the reference being made but it didn’t land. Billy pressed on. “Listen, I’m uh… I’m sorry about…”

_ High school. Hurting you. Being possessed. Hurting everyone _ .

“Yeah, I get it. It’s fine.” Steve spoke in a rushed tone as a line started to form behind Billy. “It wasn’t your fault. I mean when you tried to beat me to death, that was definitely your fault. But everything else--”

“I--” Billy couldn’t cut in as Steve carried on.

“You were all… yanno,” Steve gestures vaguely at Billy and gives a facial shrug, “and, yeah, you still did the right thing, eventually so...” Steve began rambling about things and Billy only heard white noise as he watched Steve ring up his movies. He could see the movement of Steve’s lips, see how they formed words, but nothing penetrated the static. Forgiveness wasn’t something he was able to accept yet. Billy placed money and his membership on the counter, Steve tallied up change and handed it back, and then pushed the movies toward Billy.

Billy’s fingers brushed Steve’s hand as he accepted his rentals. Human contact had been so fleeting, Billy had almost forgotten what that felt like. Loneliness crept in as Billy realized how long it had been since he’d been touched in a way that wasn’t violent or medically necessary. The last time he’d touched Steve, he’d gone too far. That fight was crystal clear in his memory, even after a year had passed.

“You sure do talk a lot, Harrington.”

Steve fidgeted and then reluctantly pointed at the line behind Billy. 

“Enjoy your movies. Due back on Sunday night by midnight.”

Billy felt a strange soreness in his cheeks as for the first time in months, he smiled. 

“Right.” 

Billy stepped out of line to the many relieved grumblings of other Family Video patrons, and made his way back to his apartment. He caught one last glance backward, through the windows at Steve, illuminated by yellowed fluorescent lights, checking out movies for the many families who were never truly touched by the darkness lingering in Hawkins. 

\------

“What the hell was that?” Robin shoved Steve’s shoulder and shook her head at him as the last of the line dwindled away and the rush faded. Steve looked at her with wide, confused eyes. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, you went full verbal diarrhea. What the hell, Steve?”

“Nope. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Do you play poker, Steve?”

“What? No--”

“Good, because you’d suck at it.”

Steve stared at Robin with a frown. She stared back, unwilling to budge. She wasn’t going to let this go. Steve learned quickly that Robin could out-stubborn a mule if she put her mind to it. She’d make that mule regret the day it was born with how stubborn she could be. She was immovable--

“Helloooo! Earth to Steve?”

Steve shook his head, clearing the quickly derailing train of thought to look Robin in the eyes. 

“Look. High school was… weird. With him. And me. I dunno. There was always this ahh…” Steve squinted as he racked his brain for the right words, voice trailing off while Robin became more and more unimpressed. Steve shrugged. “Tension. There was tension between us.”

“Uh-huh,” Robin rolled her eyes and picked up the return bin from under the counter. She began organizing the movies on the counter in front of her by genre and in alphabetical order. 

“And… Even if he was a colossal douche, he didn’t deserve what happened… At Starcourt. To be used like that,” Steve added, softer than before. 

“Shared trauma,” Robin sighed, “Can’t say I blame you for feeling sympathetic. Still weird though.”

“It’s not like I’m trying to be friends with him or something,” Steve flipped the page in his textbook without really reading.

“Whatever you say, Steve.”

Steve snapped the textbook shut with a huff. His mind was elsewhere now.

His mind was on Billy Hargrove. 


	2. A View to a Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not expect to get another chapter out this fast but inspiration struck. SO. As promised. More Steve. And then some.

High school seemed like an entire lifetime ago. Steve drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove home. The music was low. He didn’t care for loud noise. He’d been tempted more than once to break the knob off to prevent the gaggle of children often in his car from turning it up too loud. A single piece of tape held it in place instead. Dustin drew a smiley face on it some time ago. 

Steve glanced at that little face, then back to the road. His grip tightened on the wheel. Even with all the time that had passed, it was hard not to feel like monsters were lurking in the shadows. His eyes caught dark corners often, and he looked for things that weren’t there. Studying for the SATs, working, and babysitting had become necessary distractions. The late night drives home were always the hardest part of his day. No distractions here, just the road and whatever monsters lurking in the shadows his mind decided to conjure. 

His thoughts meandered through intrusive and grisly scenarios. Gnashing teeth and gargantuan rotting limbs. The crunch of metal on metal. It was like having tinnitus, but instead of a high pitched ring, it was a chorus of screams. 

His knuckles were white. He turned the wheel and let his body lean with the motion of the car around him. 

In the midst of his slow recovery, he never expected to cross paths with Billy again. They were on even footing now, Steve reasoned. Billy had beaten him within an inch of his life, and Steve had t-boned the Camaro with no regard for whether Billy would survive the impact. 

Crunch.

Steve’s breathing came more shallowly as he drove. The suburbs were a blur of identical houses and manicured lawns. He’d said the words “It’s fine.” but as he reflected he wondered if it really was. Maybe he’d lied. The farther removed he got from that exchange, the more it felt like a lie. Billy had done a lot of bad things, long before he wasn’t in control anymore. The young man in the video store hardly seemed like the same person that Steve met an emotional lifetime ago. 

All those hard edges were softened by something. Was it loss? Guilt, maybe? Steve didn’t exactly pride himself on being able to read people. 

It took a few minutes for him to realize he was parked in his driveway. The engine idled and the car was in park. Steve hated that feeling. The feeling of lost time, where his thoughts pushed him forward with no attachment to the minutes passing. With a turn of the key, his headlights dimmed and the purr of the engine went quiet. Steve sat there for a while longer, acutely aware of the feeling of each breath in and the sound of his heart hammering in his chest. 

The porch light was like a beacon, keeping him from having to walk in total darkness. His parents weren’t home. Now that Steve was no longer in school, his parents took more time away. More business trips, more vacations, and more time avoiding their son who haunted their house. Steve moved through the foyer in silence, toeing out of his shoes as he went. He dropped his coat over the banister and made his way to the kitchen to steal a beer. 

He’d stopped sleeping in his own bedroom. The view of the pool left him feeling uneasy most nights. The last place anyone saw Barb alive had been by that poolside. Knowing what came for her, what lurked in the dark once upon a time, kept Steve from going near it. 

With all the lights on, he sat on the messy bedding in the guest room and hugged his knees to his chest. The cold metal of a can against his lips distracted him from the cyclical thoughts he often fell into. He nursed his beer in silence and thought of Billy Hargrove. 

He thought of Billy before all this happened. 

Life of the party, California sunkissed skin, tight jeans, and an obsession with Steve’s status. There was a time when they could have simply been rivals. Vying for the top dog spot at school, swimming in the same social circles, and besting each other on the basketball court. Steve had already given that up by the time Billy showed. Things went sideways so quickly. 

Steve chewed at his thumbnail and stared at the bedspread without really seeing.

Who was Billy, now? Steve wondered as he nursed his beer and came to terms with the fact that he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight. He counted the flowers on his bedding. The bedside clock read 1:01 AM. 

Steve polished off his beer and laid back. 

\---

“You look like shit.”

Robin looked Steve over with one brow raised and a hand on her hip. He opened his mouth to argue, but promptly closed it again. He couldn’t argue with her. She was right. He looked like shit. 

“Did Kieth already count down the drawer or should I do it?” Steve stepped behind the counter and dropped his backpack; the thud of his books rattled the register. 

“Did you sleep at all last night?” 

Steve didn’t have it in him to deal with Robin fussing over him. He also didn’t have it in him to snap at her and tell her to back off. So he continued on, as if he hadn’t heard the question in the first place. 

“We’re supposed to get the new releases delivered today. They come yet?”

“Steve.”

“What?”

“You can’t deflect forever. You know I’ll get answers outta you.”

“Oh yeah? Gonna use some of those Russian torture techniques we picked up?”

“I might.”

“I’m terrified. This is my terrified face. Is it convincing?”

Steve turned to Robin with a phony, horrified gasp, one hand cupped against his cheek and the other pressed against his chest. Robin stared back, brows raised pointedly, and her arms folded. 

“I’ve watched soap operas more convincing than that.”

“Ouch, you wound me.”

Robin leaned back against the counter and blew a stray strand of hair from her face with a single huff from the corner of her mouth. 

“I can handle the Saturday night shift on my own,” she said, more softly, “You should get some real rest. Maybe go see your rugrats at the arcade and nap or something.”

“I’m fine.”

“What’s that kid always saying?  _ Friends don’t lie? _ ”

“I said I’m fine!”

Steve didn’t mean to snap quite as harshly as he did. A few heads turn their way, peaking over the aisles to see if there was a spectacle worth watching. Robin glanced around and waved her hand. 

“Nothing to see here, folks. Return to your browsing.”

Her tone was terse and her expression pinched. Steve rubbed the back of his neck, his face feeling flushed with shame. When Robin turned back to him, Steve kept his eyes on the floor. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

“Is this because you saw Shitface McBad Boy last night?” Robin asked, ducking her head downward to try and catch Steve’s eyes. The look of incredulity that spread across Steve’s face at the very notion made Robin laugh. “God, okay, yeah Steve, do me a favor and _ never  _ play poker.”

“It brought up some stuff,” Steve admitted, kneeling down to dig his nametag out of his backpack. As he pinned it to his shirt and stood again, he made a concentrated effort not to make eye contact. “I… I’m still dealing with last summer. Just didn’t think I’d ever have to deal with him face to face again. Which is stupid, honestly. Hawkins is tiny. We were bound to run into each other eventually.”

Robin turned away from Steve to ring up some rentals, leaving him hanging with his honesty. Steve felt a little suffocated by it. More customers approached, Robin kept working, but also resumed their conversation. She’d never really cared about customer service in the first place.

“You not so sure about him not deserving what he got, now?”

“No. It’s not that.”

“You don’t actually wanna forgive him?”

“No.”

“Then what? What’s got your shorts in a twist?”

Steve waited for the last couple customers to walk out before he admitted what had started eating at him. 

“I could have killed him. I could have killed someone. Someone I knew. I didn’t even think twice.”

Robin frowned.

“He was trying to kill everyone. Like. Literal genocide, Steve.”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t him.”

“Before he ever got possessed he beat the shit outta you and attacked Lucas. He was violent, and racist.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“The point is…” Actually, Steve realized he didn’t have a counterpoint for that. He sighed, long, loud, and exaggerated. “Nevermind. Just. Let’s just forget it. I’m gonna go do some product facing. You got the register?”

Robin didn’t have time to answer before Steve swung his legs over the counter and hopped down, making his way through the aisles, straightening already straight boxes as he went. 

\---

Billy hooked the sprayer back into place and dried his hands on a discolored hand towel tucked into his apron. The kitchen was brutally humid, his skin was slick with sweat and backsplash from the last load of dishes. He flexed his pruning fingers and rolled his stiff shoulders. The diner was open 24/7, but his shift was ending. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Just enough time to head home, freshen up, grab his videos, and return them before the deadline. He’d never been particularly great at punctuality, but he was making an effort. 

He’d walked to work. His new ride was held together with chewing gum and prayers. It would do in a pinch, for the occasional trip, but he avoided it when he could. When his apartment complex and that rusty old beater came into view, he muttered under his breath, a quiet plea that it’d make it to the Family Video. As the seasons changed, the cold would be a challenge. He was already saving up to replace the brake lines before the first snowfall. 

He swept inside, dropping his keys on the dresser, and stripped on his way to the shower. The pipes groaned as hot water rushed through them to pour over Billy, washing away the grime of his day. His cheap shampoo smelled vaguely of coconut, and he used it on every inch of himself out of laziness. The diner grease always left a film on his skin he was eager to get rid of the minute he got home. 

He toweled off, padding around naked, enjoying the freedom to do so. This was his space. His entire kingdom. He didn’t have to hide, here. Except from his own reflection. As he passed his mirror and caught a glimpse of the deep, patterned scars on his sides, the garish pink slash in his chest, and the way they’d spread outward in awkward, bumpy keloids, Billy couldn’t suppress a shudder. He closed his eyes to avoid it, and grabbed clothes from the dresser. 

A spritz of Stetson cologne completed his outfit. Jeans, jacket, and a shirt that fit just a little too tight. He felt whole and human once the evidence of last year was covered up. 

Movies in hand, he headed out, hitting the light switch on his way and casting his home in darkness. 

The old beater made a rattling noise as he drove to Family Video. Something was loose, and needed Billy’s attention. He’d get to it. Eventually. He had a time table to keep. With only fourteen minutes to spare, Billy stepped into the store, greeted by the bell above the door. He saw Robin behind the counter, and his fingers curled tighter around his returns. The feeling of shame that washed over him was hot and twisted his stomach in knots, but he didn’t turn away. She wasn’t even looking at him. As he approached the counter and dropped the movies off, she glanced up from her magazine. Before she could utter a word, Billy was gone again, weaving through the aisles, looking for something new to fill the silence at home. Another film. Another escape.

He skipped over horror and comedy, perusing action films instead. As he scanned the titles, the clatter of many VHS cases hitting the ratty carpet caught his attention. It was a sudden break in the relative silence, as Billy was the only patron in the building. Billy turned, scanning for the source of the noise, and found Steve, staring at him as he hurried to scoop the movies back into his arms. 

“You alright, pretty boy?” 

Billy gave Steve a winning smile that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. His eyes were still haunted. The jumpy way Steve moved to place the movies back on his rolling cart made Billy feel uneasy. It reminded him that he wasn’t the only one struggling, even now, a year later.

“Fine. I’m fine.”

Steve’s tone was less than convincing. Billy looked down his nose as Steve continued to pick up cases. He crossed the space between them in three short strides, and crouched down, plucking a title from the floor just before Steve could grab it. Billy flipped the case over, eyes scanning the back cover. 

“You seen this yet?” Billy asked, eyes still scanning over the summary. Steve reached out, tilting the movie upright in Billy’s grasp so he could see what it was.  _ A View to A Kill _ .

“Not this one. But I’ve seen other Bond movies. Can’t go wrong with Bond,” Steve’s fingers slipped off the case as he and Billy both straightened up. It was easy to forget that Billy was shorter than him. They hadn’t stood this close in a long time. The last time Steve had seen Billy, prior to his first visit to the video store, Billy had been unconscious, on his back, practically lifeless. Steve couldn’t think about height when he saw him then. He tried to work out why he was thinking about it now. 

The silence between them carried on too long. Steve opened his mouth to break it, but Billy beat him to it. 

“You like that stuff? Spies and supervillains and evil Russians and shit?” Billy finally looked up from the movie, eyes tracing the lines of Steve’s face, hunting for something. Steve wasn’t sure what, but that look made him feel exposed. For a moment, Steve was lost in a memory of that same look, surrounded by steam, when they’d stood side by side in the locker room showers. 

Steve cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Then why ain’t you seen this one yet?”

Steve fumbled for an answer. Billy was uncharacteristically patient. 

“Guess I just haven’t had time. I’ve been… busy. Working and studying.”

Billy clicked his tongue and shook his head in a playful display of disapproval. 

“All work and no play makes Stevie a dull boy. Guess you’ll have to wait a little longer. I think I’ll take it,” Billy’s hand landed heavy on Steve’s shoulder as he strode past him toward the counter. He lingered, looking sidelong, up through his lashes with a cheeky half smirk. “Thanks for the recommendation.”

Steve stared after him, dumbfounded as Billy checked out, and headed for the door. Billy turned on his heel and backed into the door, giving a lazy salute. Steve could still feel the weight of Billy’s hand, even though he was all the way across the store, like a brand.

“Midnight, right? See you then, Harrington!”

The door jingled as Billy slipped through it, back out into the night.


	3. Intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be warned there is mention of physical child abuse in this chapter.
> 
> Additionally, I'm really excited to be working on this concept of recovery. Fleshing out bits and pieces as I go. I really hope you are enjoying it. I like to keep the chapters shorter so I can get updates to you guys more consistently. Consider this chapter sort of a part one? I'll be doing a direct continuation in the next chapter. 
> 
> ANYWAY PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT. LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Billy fiddled with his necklace, shifting around awkwardly in the stiff folding chair. The steel was finally warming up, but its chill had already worked through his jeans and gave him goosebumps. He sipped coffee from a styrofoam cup, looking around the room with mild disdain. He didn’t belong here in this group of forty-somethings, listening to all their babbling on about how long it had been. For Billy, it had been maybe an hour. He couldn’t imagine getting to tomorrow, let alone five years. Martha sat across from him, owl statue perched on her lap. It’s blank gaze needled into Billy. He sipped coffee from a styrofoam cup, burned his tongue, went through the motions, listened to everyone else talk, he sipped coffee--

“What about you, Billy? Anything you’d like to share?” Martha stroked her owl and Billy squirmed under the collective gazes. He’d been coming for a month now. Long enough that people had started to notice he never shared. Billy cleared his throat and glanced around. All those faces, so supportive, and Billy felt a roiling sense of hate at the sight of them. How dare they try and get him to open up. Hackles raised, Billy pulled out his cigarettes. He used his teeth to drag one into his mouth, and lit it with a quick flip from his zippo. 

Billy’s knee bounced, he took a drag, and ashed into his coffee. 

“What’s there to share? I…” he looked at the floor, brows knit, smoke filled his mouth, burned his throat, swirled in his lungs. He exhaled a sharp, manic laugh. “I can’t sleep without a drink. I don’t drive drunk. I don’t get in fights. I  _ don’t _ …  _ do… anything _ .”

Not anymore. 

Memories slithered around in his skull like a pile of snakes. He felt a little dizzy and took another drag. 

“You’re here for a reason, Billy,” said the man two seats to Billy’s left. Billy couldn’t remember his name.  _ Tom? Tony? Fuck _ . Billy fixed him with a hard glare. At first, his reason had been ‘why not?’ to humor his neurotic neighbor. Now, he kept going because somewhere, deep down, he knew he should try.  _ You have to at least try _ . He was split down the middle, fighting with himself. Trying sounded so easy. He never realized it could be so hard. He railed against his better judgment, stubborn to a fault. He wanted to stay closed off. Closed off was comfortable. Trying meant that something might change. 

Trying meant he might fail.

“What d’you want me to say? I partied a lot in high school? Drove drunk more than once? Woke up in a cold sweat with puke on my pillow? I did all that, but I never hurt anyone because I was drunk. ”

_ I never needed alcohol to be mean. I needed it to dull everything. Dull my senses. Dull the pain _ .

Billy swallowed a growing knot in his throat, fingers trembling as he lifted his cigarette again. Ash dropped off the glowing end, onto Billy’s jeans. He inhaled, watching smoke coil and paper burn. A half truth jumped to his tongue. Maybe this was good enough. Maybe this was trying just enough.

“I never needed to be drunk to make mistakes. Being drunk was just for fun. That’s all it ever was.”

Billy dropped his cigarette into the ash and coffee slurry in his cup. The chair creaked as Billy got to his feet and strode away from the group, tossing the cup in a trash can on his way out of the gym. 

The fall breeze was biting, and Billy flipped up his collar against it. He dug around for another cigarette and started walking without really knowing where he was going. Hawkins was a small town, all the streets felt the same. They had nothing on the sprawls of California. Billy caught his reflection in the windows of shops as he passed, twilight was melting into darkness on the horizon and distorted his image. What he saw in those reflections wasn’t quite him. Black veins crept in those images, dark circles, and decay. Streetlights kicked on, and Billy knew he wasn’t heading home. He wasn’t ready to face that silence just yet. Instead he found himself wandering toward the high school. 

He found comfort in the familiarity of this setting. Things had been so simple here. High school had always been easy for Billy to throw himself into. He actually made decent grades, despite what many people believed about him. English was his favorite subject. Math was the hardest. Took the longest. Numbers blurred together when he looked at them, inverting and twisting, all looking the same. He remembered when it started. He was 13.

_ ‘You’re here for a reason…’ _

His father’s voice rattled around in his head and it made his blood boil in his veins. Memories washed through him in a sickly cold wave. He hadn’t set eyes on his father in months, but he could still picture him vividly. He wanted to forget his face, forget what he sounded like, forget how it felt to be thrown around and struck and his head-- 

_ ‘I always knew you were stupid…’ _

Billy remembered the first time numbers started to slip away from him as he took a seat on a picnic table near the parking lot. He stared at the school, counting the lights he saw within. He could count, but he couldn’t see the numbers in his head. They were twisting shapes lost in memory.

_ He was 13, laying in a hospital bed with a fractured skull.  _

_ ‘I fell… I just tripped and fell… hit my head on the car door.’ _

_ The doctor pulled his father into the hallway and Billy stared blearily at the machines at his bedside. The numbers didn’t make sense anymore. Everything was swirling. He wanted to close his eyes. He wanted to never wake up. He wanted... _

_ ‘I always knew you were stupid. Just like your mother. Come here boy-- Billy! Billy--’ _

Billy’s head snapped up as he heard his name being called from across the campus. All thoughts of numbers and pain scattered away. There was a small group of students filing toward their cars, and among them was a familiar face.

“Harrington? That you?” Billy’s voice was a little raw and it broke around the syllables. He’d been on the verge of tears without even realizing it. Billy grabbed for his cigarettes, for an excuse to look down, look away, and for the tears in his vision. Smoke in his eyes. Just smoke. He lit up just as Steve stopped in front of him. There was a reasonable distance of about a foot between Steve and the table where Billy was perched. Just far enough that in these low lights, Billy hoped Steve wouldn’t notice anything amiss.

Billy was perched on the table top, feet on the bench, cheeks wind whipped and red. He sat there and forced a smirk for Steve’s benefit. No. Not Steve’s. His own. If it had been for Steve it would have been easier. Billy strained to look nonchalant. He needed to hide. Hide all of the sad self pitying bullshit.

“What are you doing here?” Steve frowned at him as he readjusted the weight of his backpack on his shoulder. 

“Just takin’ a stroll down memory lane,” Billy was being honest, but he knows Steve will assume he’s talking about high school. Billy wished he was only remembering high school. Steve shifted from his toes to his heels and back again. 

“Right.”

Silence stretched on for a few beats. 

“Where’s your car?” Steve looked around and then back to Billy who flicked ash onto the bench. 

“Scrapped. You T-boned it remember.” 

Steve balked, much to Billy’s surprise. The way Steve’s face contorted and his eyes darted around to look anywhere other than at Billy was unexpected. Was that guilt? Billy tried to catch Steve’s eyes, but Steve was pointedly avoiding him.

“I walked. My new ride isn’t the most reliable.” Billy added, watching some of the tension bleed off Steve. Billy dropped his cigarette and snubbed it out with his boot. He pushed up from his seat and then hopped down, bringing himself dangerously close to Steve, mere inches between them. Steve’s breath caught and he took a step backward, putting distance between them again.

Billy appraised him with a sweeping glance. He let the silence hang again, and offered up his pack of cigarettes. Steve hesitated, fingers twitching toward the pack. His tongue darted over his lips, a display of the need for relief in his subconscious. 

“Attaboy, Harrington,” Billy encouraged as Steve accepted his offering. It wasn’t so much a peace offering, as it was an offering of support. When Billy looked at Steve, he caught glimpses of the same hard edges that Billy tossed and turned over in the night. Memories lurked in those soulful brown eyes. Billy rolled his zippo across the thigh of his jeans, the cap flipping back and flint catching in one fluid motion. Steve leaned in to let Billy light the cigarette for him, feeling the heat of the flame dance across his brow briefly, before Billy flicked the lighter shut again with his thumb. 

They stood there in the chilly night air, silently fumigating their lungs for what felt like an eternity. 

“What’re you doin’ here?” Billy asked, not really out of curiosity, but more so out of politeness. He was working on that too, just like his punctuality. He scanned the empty campus, avoiding eye contact, hip cocked to one side, arms crossed, the last burning embers of his cigarette dangling from his lips. Ash dropped as he spoke around it. “You fail senior year or somethin’? Never took you for a slacker.”

Steve bristled, huffing a wry laugh on a plume of smoke as his eyebrows pinched together and his lips pulled into a half frown. 

“I didn’t fail. I’m… taking SAT prep classes,” Steve’s books felt even heavier as he admitted he needed the classes without ever using the word ‘need’. There was a time when he could simply reach out to Nancy, but those days were long gone. Billy nodded, not really looking at Steve but rather up at the cloudy night sky. It looked like it might rain. 

“Good for you. And here I thought all those rumors would turn out to be true,” Billy flicked away his cigarette butt. He was already itching for another one. He’d been chain smoking more lately. Maybe it was time to cut back. He tucked his hands deep into his jacket pockets. 

“What rumors?” 

“That you were just an heir. A golden boy, ready to go to work for his daddy.”

There was way more venom in Billy’s tone than he had initially intended. He bit his lip and cleared his throat, kicking at the ground. Steve was looking at him with those stupid soulful brown eyes, a soft frown on his face like he was just plain disappointed in Billy. He couldn’t handle that look, whatever it was, Billy needed out from under it. 

“Look, I uh… I should get going,” Billy rubbed the back of his neck and started to side step Steve. Steve moved so quickly that Billy flinched, eyes squeezing shut and jaw clenching. Steve had a grip on him, gentle but firm at the crook of Billy’s elbow. Billy couldn’t relax, every muscle was tensed from head to toe.

“I don’t wanna fight, Harrington, I just--”

“Do you want a ride home?” Steve cut in so abruptly that Billy didn’t fully process the question being asked. 

“What?”

“I can give you a lift.”

Billy looked from the hand at his elbow, up to Steve’s face, his expression pinched with confusion. Steve was looking at him with a strange sort of earnestness that Billy couldn’t wrap his head around. 

“You worried about me, pretty boy?” Billy’s face relaxed into a smile, but there was a tightness around his eyes, a furrow in his brows. He didn’t quite trust whatever this was, and he sure as hell didn’t feel like he deserved it. Not after everything he’d put Steve through.

“Try not to let it go to your head,” Steve’s hand slipped down Billy’s forearm, keeping them connected, “This place never really feels safe anymore.”

Billy placed a hand over Steve’s and gave it a squeeze, enjoying one last moment of physical contact before pulling himself out of that grip. 

“Well, if it’ll help you sleep easier at night, I guess I can’t say no.”

Steve didn’t wait to see if Billy would follow. Billy watched him for a moment, taking in the lines of Steve’s shoulders slumped under the weight of his books. 

“Hurry up, Hargrove. I haven’t got all night!”

“Yes, your majesty.”

Billy fought a smile as he slid in the passenger seat and his senses were filled with the smell of hairspray, Steves cologne, and the occasional cigarette. 

“Where to?” Steve asked. 

Billy gestured. 

“Head out and make a right.”

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you're on tumblr and rp, hit me up. I'm trash and made a Billy blog!
> 
> Https://traashd.tumblr.com


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